


tête-à-tête

by Okumen



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, They/Them Pronouns for My Unit | Byleth, felix is so done with these supposed adults, from idiots to lovers? more like from idiot and idiot to idiots, hand-holding? uuh sort of, how does byleth conversation, i have never written these characters or this fe before so this is fun, idk what i am doing at all, or moronromantics, that side-pond Jeritza is so tempting so i tempted, this is completely unedited, we're all moronsexuals here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 15:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20780621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: Ponds, hands, morons.





	tête-à-tête

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riryou_](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=riryou_).
  * Inspired by [this tweet](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/523046) by riryou_. 

> Inspired by a tweet and also my own unfulfillable desire to push Jeritza (and every character at the edge) into the pond.

There is a splash, distinct and telling. Byleth blinks slowly. Eyes are drawn in the direction of the sound. Somebody just fell into the pond. Jeritza sputters as he emerges, and he presses a hand to his mask to ensure that it’s still there- sadly it is, and Byleth doesn’t get to see his face this time either. Not that they did it on purpose. Silently, they reach out a hand, offering it to Jeritza, to help him up and out of the water. Jeritzas eyes are solidly locked on them, an unreadable expression on his face. Though the mask does a lot for that. Eyebrow reading is paramount to understanding expressions, and as things stand, Byleth doesn’t even know if Jeritza actually has eyebrows. One can only hope, they know. Otherwise they will never figure him out, probably. At least he has lips, that’s good. Byleth doesn’t know what they would do if he hadn’t had lips.

Eventually, Jeritza takes Byleths hand and allows them to pull him out of the pond and back onto land. Byleth slowly tips their head back to take in his whole dripping wet appearance, from his clinging clothes to his askew hair ribbon. Nice. His contours are very tight.

Jeritzas eyes never leave Byleths, and Byleths never leave Jeritzas. Byleth tilts their head to the side, the question of _are you alright?_ conveyed in their body language, and Jeritza drawls, “Yes, although you were the one who pushed me in in the first place.” In response, Byleth shakes their head. _It was an accident,_ they try to assure him. Jeritza seems unconvinced when he says, “You were circling me like a hawk.” Byleth purses their lips. _I just wanted to say hi._ Jeritza is silent for a long stretch of time, immovable and unreadable, the eyebrowless handsome jerk.

During which time Byleths attention is pulled away from their long, silent staring competition where they try to figure out what to say to him, by the sagging ribbon that drips waterdrop after waterdrop into the puddle forming at Jeritzas feet. They reach out, their stare broken off, and they circle around Jeritza. Jeritza spins with it, keeping his eyes on Byleth, and Byleth has to put a hand on Jeritzas shoulder to stop him from spinning or they might both fall back into the pond. Maybe that would be nice, then the two of them could help each other up and Byleth might get another chance to try and see Jeritzas face. Jeritza still twists his head, though he has stopped moving, and when Byleth untangles the ribbon from his hair, he lets out a startled sort of sound. “What are you doing?”

Byleth regards his hair; it’s a wet mess, and needs to be dried and combed before it can be done up again properly, they think. But they actually don’t know much about hair care and just leave their own hanging until they think it’s getting too long and chop off pieces with their knife, and so they don’t have any particular expertise in making ponytails. They decide that in that case, they will leave that to Jeritza, who seems fully capable of grooming himself for the most part. One wouldn’t call wearing masks grooming, but the rest is very good. So Byleth circle back around, unbothered by the long, probably scowling, stare, that is directed at them, and they slip the ribbon around Jeritzas wrist, tying it off in an as neat bow as they can manage with it still being wet. Jeritza looks at his wrist, at the ribbon around it, and then back at Byleth. “What is this?”

Blinking slowly, head tilting, Byleth looks back at him, locking his gaze with theirs again. _Your ribbon,_ they explain, only to notice that Jeritzas eyes thin, slitting into a doubtful seeming kind of stare. “I can see that,” he says, in a tone of voice as if he expects something more. Byleth blinks even more slowly, and they lean their head the other way. _Hm?_ Jeritza sighs. “Never mind.”

He makes to turn, but he abruptly stops, and twists his upper body toward Byleth, then lets his feet follow. His gaze goes down, toward their hands.

Byleth has wrapped their hand around Jeritzas. Jeritza is silent, Byleth can feel his stare as they press their palms together, the ball of one fitted against the flat of another. “Your hands are really small,” Jeritza finally says, causing Byleth to tip their head back to look at him. Disbelief is coursing through them. _It’s not, see, it’s bigger than yours,_ they protest. There is an unidentifiable twitch at the corner of Jeritzas mouth. “It’s yours, though,” he says, and Byleth has to once more retort, to let him know that _no, yours is,_ and so it continues.

Neither can convince the other that they are the one in the right, Jertitza is as firm in his belief that his hand is larger than theirs, as Byleth is that their hand is larger than his. They have pressed palms together, middle to middle, finger against finger, to measure. They have wrapped their fingers around each others hand to see who reach furthest past the others knuckles. They have discussed at length. They- “Are you _still_ doing this?” They look away from their bantering competition, to face the interruption. _Felix,_ Byleth greets, as Jeritza canons, “Felix,” as well. Felix, arms crossed, a scowl on his face, a completely unimpressed look, looks at them both. “You realize you’ve been at this for hours?” their student asks, a snappish tone to his voice.

Byleth and Jeritza both seem to realize it at the same time, as Byleth finally tears their gaze away from Jeritza and Jeritza does the same.

“Also, Jeritza has bigger hands, Professor.” When Byleth scowls and protests, he adds, “Maybe you should get glasses.” Byleth only scowls more at him.

With a deep, long-suffering sigh, Felix pinches the bridge of his nose and as he lets go he shakes his head. “Whatever, you’re both morons. If either of you can tear yourselves away from being idiots for each other, I’ll be ambushing weaklings at the training grounds after supper.” With another huff, Felix spins on his heel, his steps leading him toward the stairs up to the dining hall. Byleth looks after him, blinking, wondering if Felix has the same eye condition as Jeritza. He asks this of the other, and Jeritza is silent for a long moment. “Yes, the one that is accurate,” he says. _It’s not, since you still have smaller hands than I do._ Jeritza sighs, shakes his head much like Felix had, and protests.

“Seriously?” They hear, a little while later. Felix is there again, exasperation written on his face. _Weren’t you going to train?_ “I was, it’s _night_. You two are just so- I don’t even- ugh, so annoying. I’m not even going to bother any more, I’m going to bed. If I find you still here in the morning I’m pushing you into the pond.”

So he says, before stalking off for the dorms, not knowing that it was Jeritza falling into the pond that made Byleth notice the size difference between their hands in the first place.


End file.
